


Post-Stasis Sickness

by Haospart



Series: No Real Choices [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Coming out of 8 years of stasis with sedatives still in your system can fuck you up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Force Bonds but fucked up, Hurt/Comfort, Implied past mind fuckery, KOTFE era shenanigans, Panic, Psychological Trauma, Sith being Fucked Up, Zal has a Fuckin Time, and waking up in chains doesn't do Zal any favors, temporary memory loss, the sith inquisitor was a slave once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27911122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haospart/pseuds/Haospart
Summary: 8 years since Zal went into the stasis chamber, sedated beforehand and locked in and away under careful Republic watch.  Abandoned to the prison that seemed built for him, finally, finally someone comes looking.  Brought in by rumors of a haunted, decrepit prison, and hoping it's enough to help pull ahead in the quiet battle against Zakuul.But he head isn't on straight, 8 years of sleep and nightmares, and ghosts haunting his prison.  Lana's never seen him like this, neverknownhim like this, one of her closest friends.  But before he was sith, before he had family, and friends, andlove... he was someone else entirely,boundto a nightmare of a Sith.  And it only takes so much to bring him back to that place.
Relationships: Male Sith Inquisitor & Lana Beniko
Series: No Real Choices [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186013
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6
Collections: Continuity:  Love and Everything





	Post-Stasis Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> Featured Character:  
> Sith Inquisitor - Zal-hessah Vooretta
> 
> This whole Vibe, and a large chunk of Zal's backstory now, was inspired by 'The Master's Song' from the dracula musical. Bc that singer IS the m!inquis va. And like, _holy shit i called it that man is a fucking tenor_
> 
> ALSO, HERE, HAVE SOME [SCRIBBLY ASS ART](https://swtorcompanionsgoofin.tumblr.com/post/636827835738259456/yall-i-had-some-feelings-about-zal-tonight-that-i)

The room, the _prison_ , was bathed in red light, a lightsaber held up as a lightsource against the impossible darkness of the deepest chamber of the deteriorated complex. It had been a containment cell for eight long years, uninhabited by organic life for the better part of the past two or three years. Too many people too deep in the complex falling ill and complaining of muddled, irritable minds. 

The deeper one went, the more likely they were to fall to this mysterious illness, that poisoned everything in the body and then siphoned off vitality like a leech on the soul. They were also more prone to horrible accidents and deadly incidents that looked like murder, but with no possible culprits. 

Mugs of caf that had been left alone in a room for only a few moments were full of deadly toxins upon return, stairs became deathtraps at random, and the one time the elevators had all, at once, plummeted to the bottom faster than physics should have allowed and the poor souls that had been using them had all been flattened upon impact. Nothing about working in the Sith’s prison was safe, even with him held in stasis and under permanent sedation on top of that. It had driven people to violence, which caused more incidents still.

The work to contain the Sith had a body count of its own, managed to be far more dangerous than it had any right to be, for what it was. Desk work with a mortality rate. 

The subsequent choice to man the labyrinthine jail entirely with mechanical workers had done well for the people who had suffered under the strain, but the integrity of structure itself had suffered for it. Even by the light of the saber, as inadequate as it was when compared to the practicality of a lamp or a properly battery-powered light, the room had suffered over a _decade’s_ worth of damage more than the eight years it had been in use, and it had been only only two or three of those years that it had spent largely lacking in maintenance.

_Decay_. Of course. It was his nature, unchecked.

The Sith hung in space, floating in the center of the chamber, in the center of the stasis field and the fail safes that surrounded it. It might have seemed like overkill, once, but with the destruction that lay around him it seemed less so.

Still, he needed to be freed. In the fight against Zakuul, a dangerous, powerful Sith, and a Forcewalker to boot, would be more than useful. More than that, he was a _friend_ , and he’d spent too long locked up.

Lana strode over to the console against the wall. Of everything here, the console and the stasis chamber itself were the only two pieces of technology that hadn’t been ruined by age that they didn’t really have. The droids had done their job, keeping the most important parts of the facility functional as the rest of it fell to ruin.

She held her lightsaber up to the controls, and with a few taps there was a hiss behind her. A slow release then? Smart. She strode back to her spot in front of the stasis chamber, keeping her lightsaber held high.

With the stasis field deactivated, the Sith was no longer held suspended in the air. He dropped abruptly to his knees, stopping his descent when the collar around his neck yanked his head up and back. He’d have collapsed entirely had it not been for that, and as it was he choked on the sudden pressure forcing him to remain upright. 

His eyes shot open, but they weren’t the red that Lana recognized. They weren’t the harsh, purple glow they took on when he dipped particularly deep into the Force or held less control over the ghosts bound to him, and they weren’t the solid, sickly green that was the mark of his particular talent for decay unleashed. They were _grey_. His face was stained by the dark side, and it cracked the skin around his eyes, but those cracks no longer glowed a faint purple, and those eyes no longer held the marks of corruption.

She’d never known him without the corruption, when they’d met his eyes had been gold, and the stain already present on him. Soon after, the red had leaked in, moment by moment, until the only trace of gold was in the smallest flecks that were frequently drowned out by the unnatural glow of the red.

His eyes had been grey once. 

She didn’t have much time to contemplate that, to stand in awe of a fact that should have been expected, that he’d looked different before diving into the darkness as a Sith. He didn’t see her, not really, but still he recoiled back. Zal stumbled backwards to his feet then jolted forwards as he realized that he only had so much give backwards.

He lifted his arms towards his neck, but shuddered when the sharp motion was halted about halfway by the restraints. He looked down at his hands, each wrist painfully constricted within the unreasonably thick metal cuffs, each one having two separate, thick chains that fastened to the floor with a heavy-duty bolt. Confusion set in, and he stared at them, then between the cuffs fastened just above his elbows on either arm, which attached to the floor behind him the same way as the ones on his wrists.

“ _No_ ,” he hissed under his breath, and gave a tug to the chains. They didn’t give, not even a little, and his expression soured. Harder, _angrier_ , he yanked, “No. No _no no no._ Not this- not _this_.”

It did little more than frustrate him further, and he braced himself to pull with more of his weight. As that also proved fruitless, he grit his teeth and abandoned the structured pursuit of freedom. He shrieked, twisting and seething to himself. He barked another loud, hoarse ‘no’ and finally looked at where he was. 

Each movement was a stiff, stilted motion and the Sith twisted in place, taking in his surroundings. The gears in his head were turning, confused but making an attempt at putting what limited information he had together. Every few seconds he shuddered and jolted, another violent tug against the multitude of restraints.

“ _Where is he?_ ” he spat, and his eyes searched above, not looking at the two people who were actually in the room. Zal craned his neck, as far as he could manage before the thick collar bit too far into his neck and shoulders to go further. He looked for something, _someone_.

“Where is that _bloody bastard_ , _where is he?_ If I have to tear his throat out with my _teeth_ I will, I’ll _do it this time_ . Where _is_ he?” his feet shuffled below him, betraying his anxiety.

“Who?” Lana spoke up, and Zal’s focus snapped to her. His eyes narrowed, suspicious.

“Oh don’t _patronize_ me. You know exactly who I’m on about. I know he’s close. I can hear him, laughing in my head. I _know_ he’s here.”

She frowned, “Who are you talking about?”

“The _Master_ , who _else_ ? He’s in my _head,_ I can _feel_ him. I can _always_ feel him. I have _always_ felt him. Now where _is_ he?” he hissed.

_Oh_ . _Oh no_. Time for damage control.

“He can’t get you here. You’re safe now,” she held up her hands in front of her, a gentle, calming gesture.

“Don’t _lie_ to me! You’re _lying_ ! I’ve played this game before, I know what you’re trying to do- it won’t work!” He lunged forwards, seething and snapping. The chains wouldn’t let him go further, but he pulled and strained at them, incensed into sudden fury, “ _Where is he?!”_

But it wasn’t fury. It wasn’t _anger_ that was falling off him… he was _scared_ . And he wasn't. He pulled it into aggression, into something _violent_ and strong. Tenuous strength, just barely pulled together, defiance in the face of something horrifying. Something Lana couldn't identify, and something she wasn't sure she'd ever understand.

" _Please_ , you're _safe_. I won't let him get to you. I'm here to help."

The raw disgust that dropped, unfiltered onto Zal's face, matched the scoff too perfectly to be anything but real, "No you're not. _Nobody_ helps. What would you get from that? What would _you_ have to gain from helping me? You can't _stop_ him. There's no _stopping_ that."

“Zal-”

“How do you know my name? Nobody knows my name,” he interrupted, his eyes flicked up and down, taking her in, finally, “Who are you.”

It wasn’t a question. But he didn’t recognize her. It stung, to be a stranger suddenly to one of her closest friends. Someone she trusted.

“A friend.”

“Doubtful.”

“We are here to free you-”

"Freedom?” he leveled a glare at her, “Don't taunt me. There's no such thing as _freedom_."

He growled at her, _actually_ growled at her, and his teeth clicked as he snapped them shut to bare them. Zal maintained aggressive eye contact, but in those eyes, the color of durasteel and sharp as ever even in his delirium, there was real fear. He backed himself away as far as he could go, each of the _eight_ chains rattled and scraped with the movement, until he had no further he could flee. He curled his upper body forwards as much as he could, until the collar around his neck, chained to the inner pillars of the stasis chamber, refused to let him go any further.

Lana took another step forwards, into his space. He stilled, kept those wary, _terrified_ eyes on her. When she reached a hand forwards, he shrank away again, bleeding anxiety and making another agitated, gravelly noise in the back of his throat.

“Peace, Zal-”

“Peace is a _lie_ !” he barked, a loud, angry, twisted noise. But it struck him, recognition beneath the muddled mind and the confusion. _Familiarity_ in his eyes, something he knew that ran deeper than who he used to be. He looked away, eyes focusing somewhere else in the room, somewhere that wasn’t Lana.

She could use this. She slowly, gently, placed her hands on either side of her friend’s face. He flinched, but didn’t recoil quite as violently as he had the last time she’d tried to touch him. Lana nodded, slow as he refocused on her, “there is only _passion._ Through passion-”

“Strength,” he cut in, quiet. _Sturdy_.

“Through strength-”

“ _Power_ ,” he continued, a measure of understanding taking root, finding hold in the familiar words.

“Through power,” she coaxed him onwards, calmly.

It took a moment of thinking, a moment for the answer to present itself, but eventually he followed her lead, “I gain victory.”

“And through victory?” one more push. Each stanza lent a measure of ease to the small, disoriented Sith. A new layer of understanding added with each new layer of the crede.

“My chains are broken-”

She took the opportunity to unlock the cuffs, the collar around his neck, everything. He had calmed, enough that she no longer needed to hold his attention through her intimidating presence as a Sith, nor with her hands on either side of his face.

He raised his hand, newly freed and mobile, and looked at it. He flexed it experimentally, tested it for stiffness, then repeated the motion with his other hand.

“Free?” he hissed, under his breath, and his bewildered eyes took on an element of delight, and he said, fervently and loud, again, “ _Free_ . The Force shall set me _free_.”

When he looked at her again, it was with understanding. With _realization_ . He smiled, small and genuine. Zal lifted his hand to Lana’s cheek and laughed. Not the humorless, hopeless chuckle he’d given before, but a real one, “ _Lana_. Thank you.”

“Are you alright?”

“Alright is a stretch, but I think- I think I’m okay? Everything is, all of it’s slow, muddled. I can’t make sense of- but it’s just very slow. My head is everywhere and nowhere. It’s all at once and nothing at all, all at the same time,” he waved his hands in front of him, not sure how to demonstrate his thoughts but determined to make the best effort.

She smiled back at him, disoriented as he was, he knew where he was, _who_ he was now.

"Welcome back to the living, _Darth Inpulsa,_ " she laughed and laid a hand on his shoulder, hoping to lend some grounding, steadiness to his world.

He huffed his own laugh in return, "I- thank you. It's good to be back."


End file.
